


Coffee Cup Lullaby

by ashinan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, M/M, Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:22:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashinan/pseuds/ashinan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony hates magic. And coffee cups. And being <i>three inches tall.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee Cup Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> Was written for the lovely [Marr](ironfries.tumblr.com) on tumblr.

Tony hates magic. Hates it with a passion that is only rivaled by his hate of Justin Hammer. He hates it because it drives his machines insane, hates it because it messes with biology and emotion and turns physics on its head. He also hates it because Loki has a very cruel sense of humour.

“I am not okay with this,” Tony says, but the other Avengers can’t hear him because he’s currently  _three inches tall_. At least they have the decency to whisper while they talk. “I am not okay with this!”

The tabletop that he was placed gingerly on is littered with discarded papers and vast amounts of coffee cups. Tony never realized how long the table was until he has to trek it to get to Steve’s side. Steve’s giant side. Steve’s hand is on the table and it’s daunting in its size. Tony looks up at the Avengers gathered around, and decides fuck it, he wants to be part of this conversation. He grabs Steve’s thumb and drops it back on the table.

“Tony!” Steve says and Tony winces as his ears thrum with the sound. Steve grits his teeth and gathers Tony up in his palm, voice gentling to a dull roar. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot.”

“I don’t like being ignored, Rogers,” Tony says. Steve holds him closer to his ear. “Figure this out, and figure it out now. I can’t help the Avengers when I’m the size of a goddamn mouse.”

“My brother has been known for his cruelty. But even this,” Thor says and Tony covers his ears again. Thor winces at him. “Apologies, Anthony. Even this is below his usual trickery.”

“How do we change him back?” Steve asks, and Thor shrugs. Tony grabs tight to Steve’s thumb as Steve lowers him to chest level. Clint is laughing silently at him and Natasha is trying not to snicker. Bruce is shuffling forward to peer at him.

“All of you are fired. I mean it. The minute I’m large enough to sign the papers, you’re all off the team,” Tony says, vehement. “And you are going to change me back  _now_  before I have to spend the rest of the damn day clinging to Rogers’ thumb like I’m the maiden in Thumbalina.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen that movie?” Steve asks and Tony hits his head against Steve’s thumb. So unfair.

The group continues to talk until Tony’s head is spinning. He can count the whorls on Steve’s skin, the creases in his fingers, and the calcium fragments in his nails. It’s like mapping out an entirely new area and as he starts counting the veins he can see in Steve’s wrist, everyone starts moving.

“Wait, what, what’s happening?” Tony asks. Steve puts him carefully down on the counter, the wisp of a nine trickling down his palm. 

“Thor has a plan to lure Loki out again to change you back. We figure the spell has a countering effect, like many of Loki’s spells, so we just need him to tell us.” Steve shuffles papers around, searching for something. Tony kicks at one of the sheets. “I know what you’re going to say, and yes, if Loki doesn’t tell us, we’ll have to wait it out, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“You have to  _whisper_  to talk to me, Steve. I’m a goddamn Disney movie waiting to happen,” Tony says, gesturing at himself. Steve raises an eyebrow. “Don’t even, Rogers. I’m not amused.”

“Disney might’ve already contacted Pepper,” Steve says, grinning. Tony kicks another sheet of paper.

“Hate this. So much. Can we go back to the mansion now?” Tony walks to the edge of the desk, peering down. Gravity is his worst enemy right now. He might only break  _some_  of his bones if he dangles from the edge first.

“Yes. Here,” Steve says, and suddenly there’s a cup under where Tony was planning to jump and fuck  _no_ , he is not jumping into a goddamn coffee cup.

“Are you  _serious_.”

“Yes! I can’t carry you around all day; you might fall off and hurt yourself. This way, you’re easy to carry and no one will wonder why I have a tiny Tony on my shoulder.”

Tony glares at the cup, at the remnants of coffee still sloshing in the bottom, at the stains of sugar and the swirl of cream. He won’t do it. He will goddamn fall before he has to ride around in a coffee cup. Fuck magic. Fuck Loki. He catches Steve looking at him, his hand falling behind Tony to stop his retreat. Tony grits his teeth and crosses his arms.

“ _No_.”

Sighing, Steve plucks him up and deposits him in the cup. Tony has two seconds of stunned silence before Steve covers the top very lightly and begins walking, knocking Tony against the side. The coffee splashes up and over his shoes, soaking his pants. Steve makes a right turn and Tony moves with him, smacking into the other side. He bangs his fist against the porcelain, ignoring the sting of his hand.

“I am disowning you, Rogers!”

Steve doesn’t answer, but Tony definitely hears him chuckle.

 --

The ride back to the mansion is less than stellar. Tony spends three quarters of it in the coffee cup, trapped under Steve’s hand. The first bit was fine, hadn’t brought up any issues, but it isn’t until Steve ignores him when he calls out for him, when he asks him for some light, a peak into the real world. A sense of panic creeps up Tony’s spine, a memory spiralling forward and he fights it back, calling for Steve more frantically, hating the hand above and the porcelain below, hating Loki and his father and his insecurities. By the time Steve listens, he’s screamed himself hoarse. He sits with his back against the side, feet shoved against the other, coffee soaking into his pants and into his shirt and into his skin. When Steve pulls his hand away, Tony looks up, chest heavy with something he doesn’t want to name.

“Tony?” Steve asks, tilting the cup. Tony scrambles up and onto Steve’s hands, vaulting off before Steve can catch him. He hits the leather seat with a thump, his legs buckling under him. He can feel Steve reaching for him, knows the moment Steve’s hand shifts to scoop him up, and he dodges, skirting around Steve’s grasping fingers and down the far side.

“Don’t!” he yells, but his voice is gone, disappeared into the rumble of the car, and he slips further down until Steve won’t be able to reach him, until he can see the ceiling of the car, feel the rumble of the engine, note the different ticks in the accelerator. It feels like home and he hunkers down, refusing to come out even though Steve calls for him.

The car stops outside the mansion and Tony honestly contemplates making a run for it, but he knows Steve will catch him before he even makes it a goddamn foot.

The door catches as it opens and Steve is already there, hands out to stop Tony from obviously jumping and Tony loves him a little bit for it, hates him even more, and sighs. “I know, I know, the cup, right?”

“I didn’t realize –”

“Can it, Rogers,” Tony says, crawling forward. The cup hangs loose from Steve’s fingers, like he’s forgotten about it, and Tony sits back, frustrated. “I can’t get in the damn thing if you’re holding it like a disgruntled Furby.”

Steve narrows his eyes. “You use references I don’t understand to annoy me, don’t you?”

“No, I do it for your entertainment.” Tony rolls his eyes. “Up and at em, Rogers.”

“You also only use my last name when you’re annoyed with me,” Steve points out, still not holding the cup right. Fine. Tony will goddamn jump if he has to.

“And you’re still talking.” Tony turns, looks at the ground, and decides fuck it. He jumps and winces when Steve shouts, his hand shooting out to catch him up in a loose grip. Tony sighs and settles back against Steve’s palm, looking away when Steve raises him to eye level.

“Will you  _stop_?” Steve says, and Tony glares at his thumb. Steve shakes his hand, rattling Tony back and forth. Tony doesn’t try and stop the movement. “You could’ve seriously hurt yourself! You could’ve broken your legs, or worse, your neck! This is why I put you in the goddamn cup, Tony. You can’t be trusted to –”

“Fuck you,” Tony snaps, standing up. He wobbles on the meat of Steve’s palm, but gains his ground. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking dare. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was goddamn eight; you have no right telling me I can’t be  _trusted_  with my safety. Take me inside, now. I am not dealing with this while being three inches tall.”

Steve’s mouth thins but he does as Tony asks. He doesn’t put Tony back into the cup.

 --

Tony makes due, avoiding Steve as much as he can while being three inches tall. The mission had been a bust, Loki tauntingly telling the others that Tony must learn a ‘lesson’ as he is apt to say, before disappearing without another word. Thor had apologized adamantly and had even offered to share his Poptarts. Tony ignores the soft curl of warmth from the gesture and instead annoys Clint into making him a cup of coffee.

 He mainly sticks to the kitchen, tinkering with the insides of small machines that Clint gives him and sharing a bowl of ramen noodle(s) with Bruce. Natasha makes him up a little bed in the corner of the counter out of Kleenex and he refuses to use it regardless of how comfortable it looks. Thor decorates his space with mini action figures of themselves. 

Three days pass and Tony has seen Steve a grand total of eighteen times. Every time Steve comes into the kitchen, Tony does his best to ignore him. He can’t deal with this on a good day, so when Steve sighs and sits down right beside where Tony is playing around inside a remote, Tony just can’t do this anymore.

“What?”

Steve rests his chin on his forearms, the shadow of his hair curling over his forehead. His eyes are very blue. “I want to apologize.”

Tony sighs, and rubs at the grease that has practically  _become_  his skin. He’ll need a shower soon. He snorts at the image, of him standing in another teacup with hot water pouring down from a kettle. Fuck his  _life_. “I know you do, and I’m sure it’ll make you feel better, but I’m busy.”

“Tony.”

“Don’t you ‘Tony’ at me. I’m three inches tall, digging around in a remote like it’s the Iron Man suit, and I can’t even take a shower because I would  _drown_. My bed is made from Kleenex and one drop of coffee is enough to get me hyped. Do  _not_  ‘Tony’ me.” Tony steps out of the remnants of the remote, searching around for a spare piece of Kleenex. He tears off a piece from his ‘pillow’.

“I didn’t mean – what I meant to apologize for was the whole cup incident. I handled that poorly and I should’ve taken you’re feelings into consideration.”

“Blah, blah, blah, bullshit. You did what you thought was right and it was my fault. I get it. Go away,” Tony says, retreating back inside the remote. Steve waits him out, as he is apt to do. “What do you  _want_ , Rogers?”

“I’m really sorry,” Steve says, whisper soft, and Tony pushes his forehead against the wires. He hates how much he loves this man.

“I know,” he says. And then there’s a creak in his bones, a pull in his skin, and the remote shatters as the counters shrink and he can’t focus as vertigo kicks in. His stomach heaves and the arc reactor clicks hollow in his chest and there are hands on his shoulders, hands on his face, and he’s looking up into Steve’s worried eyes.

“Steve?”

“Tony! You’re back!” Steve says, joy playing out complicated equations on his face and then his face is even closer and  _Steve is kissing him_.

Tony freezes, still trying to get over how his bones feel foreign in his skin, and his  _skin_  feels weird against his hands and the arc reactor doesn’t feel any different and that’s both a relief and scary as fuck because he’s more comfortable with a hunk of metal in his chest then he is in his own body. But back to Steve, who is still kissing him, who has his big hands framing Tony’s face, and Tony can’t breathe, doesn’t know what he’s supposed to be doing because  _Steve is still kissing him_. And then Steve pulls away and that’s bad, Tony wants that back, but he’s still distracted by his body having changed back to normal and how he can look into Steve’s eyes without feeling like he can crawl into them.

“I –” Tony says. Steve’s smile dims by eight six percet and oh no, no, he can’t have that, so Tony grabs him, jams their mouths together in something not even  _resembling_  a kiss and Steve makes a surprised noise and Tony pulls back because  _ow, fuck_.

“That could’ve gone a lot better,” Steve says and Tony laughs, can’t help it, leans forward until his forehead rests against Steve’s chest. Steve tangles his fingers in Tony’s hair, and says, “I really am sorry about before.”

“I know.”

And that’s when Tony realizes he’s naked. 


End file.
